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asked for Mr. Stanford.
    The clerk’s sharp eyes betrayed his curiosity. Miss Bratty asking after a gentleman? That was unusual. Her Sunday best bonnet suggested romance, but if he were a beau, why wasn’t he putting up at the Hall? “He’s left, Miss Bratty,” he said.
    “Oh dear. I don’t suppose you know where –”
    “He didn’t say, but I happened to see him heading toward the Greenman. He’d already had his breakfast.”
    “Thank you,” she said, and left, perfectly aware that her mission was causing curiosity, that would lead to gossip. She required some other means of contacting Mr. Stanford than running after him like a trollop. That is what the clerk thought, that she was chasing him. Pride left her cheeks pink with annoyance. She was not looking forward to repeating the performance at the Greenman.
    As events turned out, she didn’t have to visit the other inn. She met Lord Ravencroft on the street. He lifted his hat and made a sort of token bow without slowing his pace. She had to reach out and stop him with a hand on his elbow, which annoyed them both to no small degree. He stopped then and glared at her.
    “Can I help you, Miss Bratty?” he asked coolly.
    “We have to talk,” she said, damping down her anger.
    “Talk, then. I am on my way to see an estate agent about viewing a house. I require some excuse for being here at Easton.”
    “Bransom has been murdered,” she said, and had the satisfaction of seeing him shocked out of his usual hauteur. His face stiffened, and his lips clenched into a thin line.
    He looked around, then put a hand on her elbow. “That tea room across the street. We’ll take a table in a secluded corner.”
    As she could think of no better place, she went along with him.
     

Chapter Five
     
    Miss Talbot’s tea parlor was Easton’s favorite meeting spot for ladies and abstemious gentlemen. Its dainty linen-covered tables, its lace-edged doilies and plethora of greenery made the ladies feel quite at home. By eleven it would be crowded with shoppers taking a rest, but at nine-thirty it was deserted save for two aging ladies clad in unrelieved black, as they had been for the past decade since the death of their papa.
    These were the Misses Harper, spinster sisters who were having their drawing room painted and had left to escape the stench. They greeted Miss Bratty with bright smiles and her partner with avid curiosity. Their heads turned to watch as the young couple took a table in the farthest corner, then leaned together over the tea cups to discuss this interesting event.
    Ravencroft asked eagerly, “Where did you hear this?” She gave an admonishing “Shh” as Miss Talbot came bustling forward to take their order. This was not accomplished in a minute. She had to inquire after Lord Ashworth’s health, and Miss Bratty had to inquire for Miss Talbot’s brother, who was in India but wrote weekly. After this friendly overture, Miss Bratty felt it incumbent on her to introduce Mr. Stanford. Miss Talbot waited to learn who or what had brought this gentleman to Easton. Miss Bratty avoided this by extolling to her companion the excellence of Miss Talbot’s gingerbread.
    “Yes, it smells delicious. We’ll have it with our tea,” Ravencroft said impatiently.
    Miss Talbot darted off, to be waylaid on her way to the kitchen by the Misses Harper, using the excuse of wanting more water for the tea pot to enquire after Miss Bratty’s friend.
    Ravencroft immediately resumed his question, “Well, what about Bransom?” he asked.
    “I learned last night that he was definitely murdered.”
    His brow drew into a questioning frown. “May I ask how you learned this astonishing fact?”
    She vacillated, wanting to convince him of the certainty of her news without revealing precisely how she had learned it.
    “A load of brandy was brought in last night. The French smugglers were overheard discussing it.”
    “By whom?” he demanded at once.
    “By our English